How Do I Cope?
by shotgunpicksthemusic
Summary: How would Arthur deal with the Death of his wife, Molly? What about Molly dealing with Arthur's death? There are going to be two one-shots here, two different sides of the same story.
1. Arthur's Story

**Arthur Weasley**

 _Arthur paced around his bedroom, his wife having gone out for a "drink in Diagon Alley" yet again. He knew she was lying, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her about it. He didn't want the truth, though he knew he already had it..._

 _She was at St. Mungo's, no doubt, trying to find out how long she had left... She thought her husband didn't know, and intended to keep it that way. He found out, however, of course he did - he could see it in her eyes and the way she seemed to be deteriorating on the spot. Her clothes didn't fit right; they were baggy in odd places, and her face was sallow and pale. She was sick, and she was dying; there was no other explanation._

 _When she returned home from her trips to the hospital, she kept quiet and put on a smile that was obviously fake. Arthur knew his wife was just trying to spare him pain, but what she didn't know was that this only doubled his heartache. He wanted his last days with his wife, his Molly, to be joyful, but instead they were filled with secrets and sorrow that they could not share with each other. He had always known losing her would be hard, but he hadn't anticipated that the grief would begin before she had even gone._

 _The illness didn't take Arthur by surprise - Molly was getting old, and neither of them had very many years left. The fire that erupted in their bedroom, however, was one thing that Arthur had not anticipated. He woke suddenly to an anti-fire charm screaming loudly, Molly already away and cowered in the far corner of the bed, outstretching her wand at the flames but lacking the energy and will to do anything to them. She was breathing heavily and her heart was pounding, something her husband knew would not be good for her frail condition. As the flames roared around them, Arthur pried his eyes from his terrified, sick wife and turned them to the raging fire, drifting ever closer the bed where they sit._

"Aguamenti _!" He shouted, water spraying the hungry flames and putting it out. He scurried over to his wife, now breathing quick, shallow breaths, and held her close to him._

" _Arthur... I..." Her voice was strained, and he knew it must be hard for her to try words._

" _Shh... I know, Molly. I know you're sick. It's okay, though. I'm here. I promise, I'm here." He kissed her forehead, sweat on the surface from the warm fire, but growing colder each moment._

" _I... love you... Arthur." She whispered almost inaudibly, her last breath warm against her husband's skin. He held her hand tightly, waiting for another to come - but it did not._

" _Molly, no... No, Molly! No!" Tears began to fall rapidly, staining his wife's robes where he lay his head on her breast, desperate for a pulse and pain-stricken when he could not find one._

 _The funeral had been the worst part. While Ginny had helped plan most of it, picking out flowers and a tombstone for his wife was almost too much to bear. At the service, he hadn't cried a tear; he was too numb inside to do so. The crying had been only for that first night, with his Molly lying dead in his arms, knowing that there was nothing more he could do to save her. Now, he knew it was over. The grief had come - so,_ now _, he wondered,_ how do I cope _?_

"How're you feeling today, Dad?" George nudged his father's shoulder to break him from the blank stare he had held for nearly a minute now. Arthur looked towards his son, seeming for a moment that he had forgotten where he was.

"Oh. I'm fine, George." He took an idle sip from his mug of butterbeer, noticing his son's look of question. "Really, I am." George sighed and drank a large gulp and put the mug down.

"It'll be okay, Dad. I promise." Arthur shrugged at this - he really didn't feel like anything would be okay ever again, though he did appreciate his son's efforts to help him cope. "I mean, think about it: you're free to do whatever now. Why don't you go play with all that Muggle junk that Mum always hated?" He offered a smile to his father, but quickly let it fade as he realized Arthur would not return it.

"Hmm." He mumbled, taking this into mind, thinking off all the spark plugs and batteries hidden around the house and piled in his office, including the old Ford Anglia that he had repurposed without his wife's consent. "You're probably right. I should get going, then." He stood to leave. His son almost protested, but decided that his father was a grown man - he didn't need constant supervision.

"Alright, Dad. Have a nice day, okay?" He gave one last smile before his father opened the shop door, heading out to apparate back to the Burrow. "Wait. Dad, I love you. Remember that, will you?"

"I love you too, George." He attempted a smile that failed, offering a pained sort of grimace.

The Burrow seemed cold and empty without Molly around, despite the fact that it looked exactly the same. Arthur tried his best to keep tidy, but it never seemed to be exactly right. It never smelled of warm onion soup in the evening - the kitchen had a layer of dust over it - and the atmosphere seemed lonely and quiet. The fire had burned away the majority of their wedding photos, as well as a few baby pictures, which made Arthur feel even more empty and alone. He hadn't slept there since the night Molly died, instead taking to the couch to escape the atmosphere of death in the bedroom. He hadn't even been up there to repair the damage to the walls and floors, feeling that it would have been too much to even step foot into the room where his wife took her last breaths.

His workbench was filled with all sorts of gadgets, and several books on Muggle subjects. He sat in the chair, wondering about the days when he was so fascinated with everything, and when the batteries had meant so much to him. Now, all he could see was Molly. She hated this stuff - she thought it was useless junk. She had always made her dislike of Arthur's obsession very clear. He'd usually ignored it, making sure to work on the car or rebuilt the motorcycle when she was not home, but now... It angered him. Every last bit of it made him sick to his stomach. Standing suddenly, the chair toppled to the floor behind his as he summoned a rubbage bin, angrily tossing every spark plug and battery into it until it was full.

When the workbench was clear, he moved to the floors, clearing out every bit of junk that would have made his wife scowl. When he was finished, when every small item was in the bin, he stared deeply at the Ford Anglia that took up the remaining space. He remembered the day he brought it home, the way he and Molly had argued... He swore he'd keep it in the workroom, that it would never leave. Then the boys took it out to rescue Harry... He'd been so proud of himself, proud that all of his charms had worked on the car. And when he and Harry took it to Hogwarts, when he thought it'd been gone for sure, but there it was, here again. He'd spent so many months making sure this thing had worked properly, many arguments with his wife... His wife that was now dead. These moments that he had wasted with her, making her cross, angering her for no good reason...

Arthur vanished the car without another second of hesitation. _She would have wanted it_ , he thought. _She hated every bit of this_...

The house became more and more empty every day. This was the only thing Arthur could think to do - sell all the things he didn't need, including his old bed; pack away all the portraits and photographs and give them to his children; keep clearing out, cleaning everything that could be cleaned. He couldn't stop. He wanted every painful memory gone, anything Molly didn't like, gone. Everything. Gone.

He kept clearing out until the only things that remained were the couch, a meager supply of food in the cupboards, and the ghoul in the attic that thumped around occasionally. Arthur was done; he had nothing else to do. He'd done absolutely everything in an attempt to clear his mind of his wife, but she was still there, gnawing at the back of his mind. He couldn't sleep, and he could only force himself to eat occasionally. Until he ran out of food completely, he never even left the house.

With two bags full of food, Arthur apparated to his front step and opened the door. He flicked on the lights, revealing his home, absolutely filled with his family and friends.

"Surprise!" Everyone yelled in unison, causing Arthur to drop the groceries he had been holding. The bottle of milk exploded on the floor.

" _Reparo!_ " yelled Harry, stepping forward with his wife and Arthur's daughter. The milk returned to its now-repaired bottle.

"Hey, Dad. george told us you were pretty down... We understand, really. But when we came by a few weeks ago to check it out, when you were at the store, and it was a pretty scary sight..." Refferring to the empty floors and walls, she frowned slightly. "Dad, we want you to be okay. You know that, right? We know it ought to be hard for you. Mum was your everything. But you've got us, too, you know. And we want to help!" She gestured to the walls that were now filled with smiling photographs once again. However, when Arthur stepped forward to get a closer look at one, he realized they were not the same ones that he had recently removed.

"Ginny had the idea. We figured you'd gotten rid of the old ones for a reason - so we just got you new ones! That there's James and Lily Luna." Harry pointed to the photo of a young boy holding a baby girl. Arthur turned to face his large family, all of his children, their wives, their children. They all ran to point to their own photographs, brought here from their homes to show him that they cared, and that they wanted to help him through this. Walking around to see what everyone brought, he thought maybe he could manage to be happy again.

"Oh, Dad, I nearly forgot." Ron reached for Hermione's bag and pulled out a framed photo. "We couldn't keep this one, dad. It's yours. Really." The last wedding photo, one he had given away, desperate to clear out, was right there in front of him. He took it, rubbing the face of his deceased wife with his thumb, feeling the tears forming in his eyes.

"Kids... Family, thank you, thank you so much." He wiped away a tear, setting the picture of his smiling, waving Molly down on the couch. "I know I let myself go... I'm so sorry... Thank you all for helping me out today. I needed this, desperately." The tears were falling freely now, and he did nothing to stop them.

A mob of little feet came rushing to Arthur, surrounding him from the waist down. He nearly tripped over them, but steadied himself at the last moment.

"Grandpa! We got you this!" They held up a brand new book, one obviously of Muggle making. _Electricity for Dummies_. Arthur grinned, ear to ear, tears still pouring from his eyes.

"Thank you, James, and all of you." He hugged his grandchildren tight, conjuring chairs for everyone to sit in, bringing back all of the things he had rid himself of to try and cope with the loss of his wonderful, loving wife. Ginny made onion soup, just as good as Molly had made, and they all sat to eat and laugh and remember the life that had inspired them all. Arthur realized, then, that forgetting about his wife would not be the solution. The only thing he could do was remember her for what she was - the most wonderful woman he had ever met.


	2. Molly's Story

**Molly Weasley**

 _"You're absolutely sure that there's no records? Nothing at all?" Molly's voice was cold and sad, unlike herself. She knew the truth - she was dying, and the Healers had absolutely no idea why._

 _"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, we're trying our best, but... It doesn't seem as if you have the time for us to look. This isn't a simple case of Dragon Pox or a misused spell. We really have no idea." The Healer frowned, obviously uncomfortable with having to tell a patient there is no hope. Molly just nodded softly, a movement that could hardly be seen by the naked eye._

 _"Thank you. I know you have done your best." She turned to leave, apparating to her home as soon as she exited the doorway._

 _At home, it was so difficult for her to keep her visits to St. Mungo's a secret from her husband. Arthur was obviously concerned; he often stared at her while she was turned away, hoping to find out what was wrong, what made her look so thin and sullen. She wanted to tell him, she just hadn't figured out how to do so... They had been together since they were so young, and she didn't have the slightest clue how she would admit to him that their time was so short now. It would be too much to bear, seeing his eyes filled with hopelessness, the way he'd cry. Of course they both knew that this was coming with their age, but it was still so hard to actually admit that it was coming so soon..._

 _The fire had awoken Arthur first, who was now standing in front of the flames with his wand outstretched, water shooting from the tip. This fire, however, was growing too large - no amount of water seemed to do anything to the hungry flames. Molly sat up, desperately reaching for her wand, unable to find it on the cluttered bedside table in the midst of the chaos. Looking back at her husband, she called out to him,_

 _"Arthur! We've got to get out of here!" She pulled on her slippers. Finally, she located her wand and gripped it tightly._

 _"Go! I'll be out in a moment!" He continued trying to kill the fire. Molly bit her lip, worried for her husband's safety._

 _"Arthur, I love you." She spoke aloud normally, her voice hardly carrying over the sounds of the roaring flames._

 _"I know, Molly! Out!" he shouted at her, his head turned towards the bedroom door. "Now!" Molly nodded and ran for the door, waiting for her husband in the hall. After several minutes when the flames still crackled from their bedroom, she stepped her head in once again, tentatively looking for her husband._

 _There he was, sprawled on the floor, half-buried in the flames, still desperately trying to escape._

 _"Arthur! No!" she screamed, yelling out_ aguamenti _to extinguish the flames. But it was too late for Arthur, who lay on the ground, his arms slack and his eyes closed gently. "No! Arthur, please!" Molly wailed as she threw herself on the floor beside him, holding his face in her hands. His lower portion was charred beyond recognition, and he was no longer breathing. "Arthur... It was supposed to be me!" She cried against his chest, still warm against her tear-stained cheek. He had died trying to save her, but for what? Another six months of life? A year, at most? How would she cope until then?_

"Mum? You seem... oddly okay. Are you sure you're alright?" George put his hand on his elderly mother's shoulder, pulling her close to him. Molly hadn't cried any tears during the funeral service, and seemed to be taking everything in stride, not bothered whatsoever by the turn of events that occurred days before. She merely waved him away.

"Oh, I'm quite alright, dear. We've lost people before," her gaze softened when she saw her son's grimace, "and this will be no different. We'll all cope." She gave a genuine smile and kissed George's forehead. "I'm fine. Really, I am, dear."

"Okay, mum... But you'll call if you need anything? Angelina and me would be fine with you coming to stay with us, if you'd like. Just for a little bit?" He gazed into her eyes, trying to find a hint of grief, but to no avail.

"No, I should really be home. It wouldn't feel right to let it sit there and get dusty. I've repaired the bedroom, so it really is fine, George." She smiled once, more, stepping away from her son and turning towards him to say good-bye. "I love you. I hope you and your family are well, dear." She turned and walked away from the crowd of family members, apparating back to the Burrow after she cleared the graveyard fence.

The smell of onion soup filled the house, wafting into every bedroom, bathroom, and closet. The house was the same - it was neat and tidy, no dust to be seen, and there was still always food to be served, whether anyone was over for company or not. Molly ate her supper in the quietness of her home, staring blankly at the clock which no longer featured her husband's name. Though she had not been downstairs at the time, she knew for a fact it had been pointed at 'mortal peril' for minutes before falling from the clock face. It didn't matter much now, as it had stopped working altogether recently - the enchantment that Molly had put on it seemed to sense her inner misery, the lack of willpower, and her name had stopped dead in it's tracks between 'mortal peril' and 'home' after Arthur's death.

The inside of Molly's head was a jumbled mess of emotions. She'd lost so many people in her lifetime; her own son was dead and buried long ago. Yet, somehow, this seemed different... She'd always seen a life where Arthur lived in the Burrow with her. Of course, the children were to leave some day, but her husband... He was supposed to be there always.

She couldn't help thinking of all the times she'd been cross with him. His obsession with Muggles - it had gotten in the way of their happiness before. Now, she felt that her anger was silly, that it should have been avoided, that they could have had a happier life together if only she'd have let up on her rage once in a while.

Finally, she did what she had to do. She'd been avoiding it since the funeral, not wanting to visit the place he loved so much... But, to cope, Molly knew she'd have to see his workshop now. As she walked out to the little shed behind the house, she picked at her fingernails tentatively, stopping short at the door before she could will herself to turn the knob. When, at last, she was able to open the door, her breath caught in her throat. It smelled like him in here - along with the smells of metal and rust - and it brought tears to her eyes immediately. The place was cluttered, messy, and dusty, so much unlike the inside of their home. He had piled things on every surface, finding everything so fascinating... Molly felt the guilt rise in her stomach; why had she hated his hobby so much? Why had she always put him down for his passions?

Picking up a spark plug, the tears fell to Molly's cheeks. She toyed with the dangling wires for a moment before setting it back down on the workbench, settling for a large car battery next. She still didn't see the appeal in such mundane, useless items, but... Now they seemed like priceless treasure to her, the last remaining piece of Arthur that she had left. Turning around, she saw the old Ford Anglia that took up much of the space in the workroom. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to contain a sob.

"Oh, Arthur... I'm so sorry..." She breathed, muttering to nobody, tears pouring from her eyes. She opened the door and it creaked loudly. Slowly, she sat down in the front seat of the car, all cushioned and comfortable, the steering wheel right in front of her. She lay her head upon it, resulting in a loud horn blasting from the inside. This startled her; she yelped loudly and quickly scrambled out of the car. Still, she admired it now, was so happy to see what her husband had accomplished with it... He had done some fairly skilled magic to make this car do what it now could do, and what had she done? Only scolded him when the kids took it to rescue Harry... She never once, not that she could remember, told Arthur that she was proud of his work in here. Slipping a smaller battery into her pocket, she exited the workshop.

Ginny and Harry were coming over for dinner with their children today, which gave Molly something to do. She cleaned the house immaculately, leaving not a single spec of dust anywhere to be seen. She tried her best to fix the clock, but it was too stubborn for her feeble state of mind and body. Although she was excited to have her children and grandchildren coming for dinner, she knew it was time to tell somebody about her illness. She could feel the weight in her stomach - of course, she didn't want to give them bad news, but she knew her time was drawing nearer every day. She didn't want to take her family by surprise.

"Mum, we're here!" Molly heard her daughter's voice echo from the front hall, followed by the loud footsteps of little feet running to find their grandmother.

"In the kitchen, darling!" She called back, listening for them to draw nearer to her. When they all sat around the table to talk, Molly smiled. "I made onion soup. I know you like it, Harry." He smiled at his mother-in-law, turning to glare at James who was trying to peek into the soup bowl, effectively going to knock it over.

"It was dad's favorite too, right, mum?" Ginny pondered, offering a tiny smile to her mother. Molly nodded, sadness entering her eyes. Ginny turned her head away, feeling the pain her mother's presence gave off.

After the meal, Molly spoke up.

"Would you all care to spend the night with me?" She offered her family, a little grin on her face that both of the adults could tell was not genuine.

"Of course, mum, if you'll have us."

"Yes, dear. I'd like it if you stayed." She reached for her daughter's hand and squeezed gently, waiting to speak again. "Could the children head upstairs, to pick a room for tonight? They can sleep wherever they'd like." The three kids' heads shot up, immediately interested in the offer they were given. Once they had been given a look of approval from their mother, they all ran upstairs to find their own rooms for the night.

"What's the matter, mum? It's something. I can tell." She looked her mother up and down, sad to see her in such a sorry state. "Is it dad? You seemed too calm at the funeral... I was hoping you were doing okay." Harry nodded at his wife's words; he had noticed, as well. That was one of the reasons they'd come to visit - to make sure Molly was coping with the pain, and hopefully healing.

"Yes, I was bothered more than I let on, but that's sadly not what I wanted to talk to you two about..." She picked at her fingernails, her stomach churning. The atmosphere of the room got suddenly tense and awkward, the couple looking from each other back to Molly, their eyes filled with worry.

"Then what is it, Molly?" Harry asked, a little bit of fear in his eyes.

"I... I-I'm sick, kids. It's... pretty bad, actually. I don't have long at all. A few weeks, a few days maybe. And... I just felt I should tell you before it happened, so that it wouldn't be as much of a surprise as... as Arthur's death was." The last words were hard for her to choke out. She hadn't admitted his death out loud before. She felt her heart shatter in her chest.

"Oh... Mum... I-I..." She began to cry; Harry held her close as she sobbed into her hands.

"Molly... thank you for letting us know. There's nothing the healers can do?" He patted his wife on the back, trying to comfort her as best he could.

"They don't know what it is, exactly. I'm old, Harry. There's nothing they can do." Harry nodded at Molly's words, as he knew them to be true. "Maybe we should all head to bed. Ginny, will you go find us a room? I think you should rest a bit, and we can talk about it tomorrow." His wife nodded and wiped away her tears.

"I love you, mum." She croaked through a broken voice before heading up the stairs to get ready for sleeping.

"This is going to be hard for her. Losing both parents within days of each other..." He trailed off. Of course, he didn't remember his parent's deaths, but the pain still hurt him some days. He sighed and stood up, ready to follow his wife.

"You've got each other, though. All of you. George, Percy, Bill, Charlie, you and Ginny... You've all got plenty of loved ones to help you cope." She gave him a weak, reassuring smile which Harry returned.

"You're right, Molly. We'll deal with it, just like all the other losses we have suffered." He leaned forward and kissed her hand. "Thank you for loving me like a mother, Molly. I love you, truly."

"I know, dear." She smiled once more and turned to leave for bed, trailing behind Harry.

As they made their way to separate bedrooms and said their good-nights, Molly felt a twinge of pain once more for her husband. Her children all had their homes to go to, filled with smiling faces. _It will be easier for them_ , she thought. They could cope.

That night, when Molly settled down for bed, she did not awaken in the morning. Instead, she lie there with a faint smile on her face, ready to be with her husband.


End file.
